A Sojourn in Pioneer Illinois It was early in the 1800’s that a great interest in a little known territory of Illinois developed in Newberry County SC. About a dozen men from Newbeny County and neighboring Fairfield County in upper SC decided to go on horseback to Illinois and ‘spy-out’ the land. This expedition was much like that of the twelve spies of Israel who had been sent out to seek the land of Caanan in preparation for an invasion by the tribes of Israel under the leadership of Moses. Among those twelve scouts who went to the land of Illinois was one of the writer’s ancestors, Samuel Sloan.  The explorers made their way westward across the hills of the Carolina Piedmont and penetrated the passes and rocky trails of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The highlands of western North Carolina, including the region around Ashville were crossed without any special difficulties. Then the scouts entered the Great Smoky Mountains. Over the great peaks and forests of this region hung a perpetual haze, which seemed much like smoke. In this region were many chestnut trees, which were becoming heavy with their crops of green nuts. Here too, were many other varieties of trees. But most of these ancient forests consisted of conifers. Bears were occasionally seen and at night the screams of panthers sometimes frightened the horses. In the densely forested land of Tennessee, beyond the Great Smokies, there were many small settlements, roughly cut roads and trails connected these log cabin settlements. On the broad Tennessee River a few small flatboats operated. Beyond the hills of Tennessee lay a wide rolling, partly forested region, which was largely covered by meadows of a tall, bluish type of grass. This was the famous blue grass region of Kentucky. Here, herds of deer grazed near the cattle herds of settlers. Here too, a few Indians remained. The Ohio River, the largest stream that any of the scouts had ever seen was finally reached. The scouts swam their horses across the great river. The banks of that great river were densely forested but further northward the forest thinned out somewhat. Soon a region was reached where the land was covered with tall grass. Often this grass was as high as a horse, or even higher. This was the famous prairie country of Illinois territory. There forests were usually found only along the streams. A few Indians tribesmen still roamed the prairie country. The widely scattered log cabins of the white settlers had old-fashioned ‘stick- chimney’ well plastered with heated mud. The explorers made their way northward through the prairie country of rich soil, tall grass, grazing herds of deer and cattle and occasionally buffalo. Many of the settlers were from the south and welcomed the strangers, as they were anxious to learn the latest news of the outer world. They proudly showed the visitors their thriving fields of corn. Instead of planting corn by dropping one or two grains at one place in a furrow and spacing these seed droppings about ten inches apart, as was the practice in the Carolinas, these settlers in Illinois almost drilled their seed corn in the plow furrows during planting. Almost every grain of seed corn sprouted. Then, in spite of their destiny, these young stalks of corn grew prodigiously and every stalk bore at least two large ears of corn. The only trouble about farming in this fertile prairie country was the difficulty of marketing the harvested crop. In that thinly settled country there was almost no market for harvested Illinois corn and the only practical way of marketing was to send it down the great rivers to New Orleans, Louisianna, selling it at auction there. On the small rivers of Illinois tiny groups of settlers would build huge rafts made of the trunks of trees felled on the riverbanks. On these big rafts were constructed pens built of poles. The pens were filled with the corn of various farmers. A tiny hut on such a raft served as living quarters for the crew. Steering was accomplished with the aid of a large rudder and tiller at the stern and a big ‘sweep’ or oar on each side of the raft aided in propelling the vessel on the few occasions the river current alone was not sufficient. The visitors from South Carolina listened with great interest as their newly met friends in Illinois told of these things. After traveling further north through prairie country with tall grass and scattered homesteads, the explorers finally reached a small town called ‘Chicago’. It was scarcely more than a large village at the mouth of the Chicago River, which flowed into the Lake Michigan. A sailing ship was moored at a stout wooden wharf in the great lake and on the northern side of the river a garrisoned stockade fort stood, to defend against hostile Indian tribesmen. The local whites said the settlers and Indians were at peace, trade was prospering and commerce was increasing on the great lakes. Sam Sloan, one of the South Carolina visitors, was impressed with what he saw in Chicago and in the surrounding countryside and formed friendships with some of the local people. Using money he had brought with him he purchased several hundred acres of good land and properly recorded the transaction at the local official records office in Chicago. Already late in the year, it was time for the explorers to journey southward, home to their families in South Carolina. By the time the party reached the southern end of the territory they began to suffer severely from the cold. When they reached the Ohio River it was already frozen over, making the crossing over the river without difficulty. In northern Kentucky smaller frozen rivers were crossed in the same way except with one incident of the ice breaking beneath one horse and its rider. The horse was lost and the rider almost died of cold and shock before a fire could be built to save him. One chilly afternoon, while following a woodland path, the travelers emerged into a small clearing in the forest, where a small log cabin with billowing smoke was seen. In front of the cabin a man was busy with a mortar and pestle, pounding shelled corned into meal for the baking of bread. As the travelers approached the man looked up at them with a hostile glare. The visitors asked permission to spend the night and said they would gladly sleep on the cabin floor near the fireplace. At first the woodsman absolutely refused to have guests and one of the men remarked that under similar circumstances, no man in South Carolina would refuse hospitality on such a cold night. The settler hesitated and then explained his reason for refusal. He said he was an outlaw and always lived in fear of the coming of the avenger. Therefore he dared not admit guests into his house. Then, having said this, he told the visitors that if they wished, they could sleep on the hay in his barn. The invitation was gladly accepted and in a few minutes the travelers were climbing into the loft of the log barn and digging holes for themselves in the hay. There they slept, warm and safe from the elements. After several more days of hard travel in bitter winter cold South Carolina was again seen. Sam Sloan returned with a determination to sell his property in Newberry County and take his family to the new property purchased near Chicago. In the following year a buyer for his South Carolina lands was found and despite the pleas of his good neighbors, placed his belongings, food and family in the wagon and with many tears departed for Illinois. The covered wagon and its laboring horses slowly made their way northward. The trip with the wagon took more time than Sam Sloan had expected and when the Ohio River was reached and crossed on a newly established ferry there was a bitter-cold wind blowing. A heavy snow began to fall. In desperation Sam stopped at a settler’s cabin and asked permission to stay for the night. The settler and his wife were more than courteous and were anxious to hear news of the outer world. But they told the travelers if they spent the night there, they would probably have to spend the entire winter at the cabin, for when the snow stopped it would be too deep for travel. In that small cabin two families would find the winter-long confinement impossible. However, a few miles further along the road was a farm recently deserted. The owner would never return. The buildings were in good condition and there was hay in the barn with a good well in the front yard. The well bucket had been removed but water could be reached by fastening an ordinary bucket to a pole. Sam was told if he traveled quickly he could reach the deserted farm before the snow became too deep and if it so suited him he could remain at the place and farm it the following year ‘for the departed owner would never return’. Sam thanked the man for the information, returned to his wagon and resumed his journey. Snow was falling steadily when the Sloan family reached the deserted house. The door was unlocked and the family unloaded the wagon contents to inside the dwelling. A small nearby shelter with a stack of wood was found and the Sloan boys soon brought enough into the home and had a good fire going. The fireplace and chimney had been built of sticks and plastered with hot mud. Sam found a pole and tied a bucket to it. With this devise he drew water from the well and watered the horses. Then he led the animals into the barn where there was an ample supply of hay. After caring for the horses Sam returned to the well and drew water for his family. On entering the house he found the place warm and cheerful with flames dancing in the fireplace. Mrs. Sloan was cooking dinner over the fire. Next morning the snow was so deep that transportation by wagon was impossible. The Sloan Family had indeed been fortunate to find the deserted home. There were no close neighbors but that winter Sam managed to make friends among the farmers living nearest to him. Sometimes the men hunted together, tracking animals in the snow. Most of the bears were hidden in a state of hibernation. But deer, moose and buffalo survived by congregation, trampling down the snow so that the grass and roots beneath could be eaten. In both winter and summer roving packs of wolves sometimes made the fertile land a dangerous place in which to live. But of far more danger than the wolves were the prairie fires. Sometimes, in dry weather, lightening or a carelessly started campfire would ignite a wild fire in this vast wilderness of horse high grass. Then with the wind assisting, the fire would spread uncontrollably and roar across the countryside with the speed of a galloping horse. People on horse back, on foot or in wagons would join domestic animals as well as wild creatures, rabbits, deer, buffalo, wolves and bears in a frantic stampede to escape the on rushing mass of lurid flames. Heavy clouds of smoke would rise into the sky and wolves and bears, in a frantic stampede, tried to escape. Any fugitive, animal or man, whose strength gave out or had the misfortune to fall, would be overtaken and consumed in those flames. Sam Sloan heard many tales about these terrible prairie fires as he hunted with his newfound friends. But there were also stories of tremendous harvests of corn and wheat. It was quite evident Illinois territory would one day become a State of the Union and one of the wealthiest of all the states.  The deep snows of winter melted away and spring came at last. During that winter the Sloan family had established strong friendships and the land in the area was very fertile. Sam Sloan was reluctant to depart and decided to remain where he was for one year, farming the land, selling the crop and then moving to Chicago, several hundred miles to the north. As early as possible Sam began ‘breaking up’ plowing the farmland and following the example of his neighbors, drilled his seed corn in the newly opened plow furrows. The corn sprouted well, came up thickly and grew astonishing well. Every stalk of corn had fruit. It was evident that if no disasters occurred, the family would enjoy a fabulous harvest. During the growing season another family from the South arrived in the area and settled on a farm about two miles away. For a long time the Sloan children had not had any playmates and thus it was quite natural for the Sloan children to ask their mother for permission to visit their new neighbors. At first Mrs. Sloan refused such permission. The road to the neighbor’s house was in a region of wild prairie grass as high as a horse. But children have a way with their pleadings and eventually Mrs. Sloan gave in, but with the stipulation that they had to return before sundown or suffer her consequences. The oldest son promised faithfully and then joyously the two sturdy boys and their eight year old sister set out on the long walk to the home of the neighbor. At the Neighbor’s house the three young Sloans met a warm reception for the neighbor’s children were as eager for playmates as were the Sloan children. For several hours they played merrily together and then the lady of the house came and invited everyone to come indoors and eat supper. The Sloan children wanted to accept the invitation but the older of the two brothers looked up at the declining sun. He himself had been promised a good whipping if he failed to come home before sundown. It was time to go. After reluctant goodbyes the Sloan children set out on the pathway that led homeward. On both sides of the path the grass loomed higher than a horse. The children had gone a considerable distance along this wilderness when they heard what they thought was the bark of a dog. A moment later the sound was here again. This time it was slightly nearer. Almost at once the oldest realized that they heard, not the bark of a dog, but the howl of a wolf. A moment later a pack of wolves broke into a full cry on the trail behind the children. The two brothers seized their sister, little eight-year-old Mary, by the arms and ran with her, almost jerking her feet off the ground. Behind the fleeing children, coming nearer and nearer, was the terrifying sound of a pack of wolves. The top of the home was now visible above the grass line and as the children reached the clearing they ran as never before toward the house. Ahead of them their mother was standing with the door open. Panting, the children ran through the doorway and the mother slammed the door behind them. Within a moment howling wolves surrounded the house. The animals ran all around the yard and around the barn as they sought their prey. Fortunately, the barn doors were closed and the horses were safe. Mrs. Sloan could not get over the narrow escape of her children and implored her husband to return to the Carolinas. Sam too was affected by the experience but did not feel the family could afford to return to South Carolina. It would have been uneconomic to leave Illinois at that particular time. Several neighbors, along with Sam Sloan had been working on a large flat boat on which they were planning to transport their corn downstream to New Orleans. They had felled trees along the riverbank and rolled huge logs into the water, fastening them firmly to form a raft. Wooden floors were laid on the rafts and on the floors enormous pens were built, each for a different farmer. When the corn harvest began loads of corn were hauled to the river and stored in the pens aboard the raft The corn crop that year had been splendid and the raft and barns were filled with corn. Then the final touches were added to the big raft. A large rudder and a tiller were attached to the stern and a large sweep, or long oar, was added to each side. A small comfortable hut with cooking facilities, accommodating four or five men was built between the corn pens. Firewood and food supply, blankets and large jugs of water were brought on board for the crew. Enlisting a crew was not difficult for most young men saw the trip as an adventure. In New Orleans each pen of corn was sold at auction and afterwards the raft was sold or auctioned off also. The new owner of the raft broke up the raft and floated the logs to a nearby sawmill and had it converted to lumber which had a ready market in the burgeoning, rapidly growing New Orleans. The long trip homeward for the raft’s crewmen was often dangerous. Many people along the waysides were aware the strangers from the north were carrying large sums of money and many a young man was victimized and sometimes killed by robbers. While waiting for the return of the crew Sam Sloan and other farmers in the region took advantage of their leisure in repairing and improving their barns and homes, constructing fences, fishing and hunting. Killing a prowling wolf was considered an accomplishment. Wild geese and passenger pigeons, which had spent the summer in Canada, migrated southward in such vast numbers that they often broke down the branches of trees at the places where they roosted at night in the forests. But the favorite trapping for the farmers was the prairie chicken, easily trapped with the use of a simple box-shaped ensnarement made of sticks and tied together with pieces of cord. The boxes were laid flat on the ground with the bottom side up. On one side of the trap a big handful of dirt was scooped out directly beneath the side of the trap. The trapper would go about a hundred yards away and begin dropping a trail of corn leading to the trap. A few grains would be dropped into the scooped hole and then a handful of corn would be deposited inside the trap itself. The wandering prairie chicken would find the trail of corn near the trap and follow it to the trap itself. After the bird had eaten all the corn outside the trap it would follow into the trap itself. Sometimes Sam Sloan would find his stick trap full of big fat beautiful prairie chickens. After a time of waiting the young crewmen returned safely to the Illinois farmers. Sam and his neighbors received with gratitude their payment for their corn. Mrs. Sloan continued to plead for the return to the Carolinas and thus it was in the following spring, as birds were returning from the south and flowers were emerging in the prairies, the Sloan Family said farewell to their good neighbors, loaded their sparse belongings into the covered wagon and amid tears, they set off for Newberry South Carolina. Travel was slow but uneventful through Ohio and Kentucky. Little Mary as a form of entertainment collected pinecones from fallen trees as she walked alongside the wagon. The Sloans settled on Cannon Creek in east Newberry and Sam and his wife are buried at Cannon Creek ARP Church cemetery near the creek. Little Mary Sloan grew up to be the wife of Robert Caldwell.  1 Headstones inscribed: Samuel Sloan 1/12/1774 - 1/24/1 852; Mary Sloan, died 3/16/1846, age 67 years Head Travern It was in the early morning of Wednesday, August 22,1832,- in a spacious brick office in the back yard of the imposing mansion known as "Coatswood" in the village of Newberry, S. C. that Chancellor Job Johnstone, of the South Carolina Judiciary, was preparing to travel. Several weeks earlier, the Vice President of the United States, John Caldwell Calhoun, South Carolina's most distinguished son, had written to Judge Johnstone and had requested that he draw up a draft of an ordinance of nullification of a tariff law which had been passed by Congress. The New England states, struggling against foreign competition as they endeavored to develop their infant industries, wanted a high protective tariff. The agricultural South, which needed manufactured goods at reasonable prices, wanted a low tariff for revenue purposes only and unrestricted access to the goods produced by the old, established industries of Europe. There had been fierce debates in Congress; fiery newspaper editorials had been written. There had been much bitter oratory, and several duels had been fought. In general, the South felt that the tariff act was grossly unfair to the agricultural states. Calhoun's plan was to have his distinguished friend, Judge Johnstone, draw up a declaration that the tariff was unconstitutional.  In consequence, it could be nullified by a convention of the people of the states that had founded the federal government and adopted the constitution that legalized that government and gave it its powers. Later, Calhoun reasoned, a special convention of the voters of the state could be called. On this occasion a special committee, headed by Chancellor Harper would present the ordinance of nullification to the people for action. In his quiet and spacious office, which was also his study, Chancellor Johnstone had written the ordinance that Calhoun had requested. He thought he had done a good job. Now, by prearrangement, he was on his way to meet the Vice President of the United States at Head's Tavern, a few miles west of Newberry Village. The Chancellor mounted his horse and rode out of the yard of "Coatswood", the mansion which still stands at the end of Calhoun Street.  Johnstone rode westward and left the village by a little road which would later be called O'Neall Street. Three miles out of town, as he proceeded along the Belfast Road, the traveler approached the entrance to a short avenue that led westward to a grove of ancient oaks surrounding a handsome plantation house known as Springfield. This was the home of the distinguished jurist Judge John Belton O'Neall, who would later be remembered for his book THE ANNALS OF NEWBERRY, as well as a legal textbook BENCH AND BAR OF SOUTH CAROLINA. As Johnstone approached the entrance to Springfield, he saw a horseman riding out to the road juncture. It was Judge O'Neall himself. A descendant of Bush River Quakers, Judge O'Neall had been Johnstone's good friend many years, but the meeting had been purely accidental. Judge O'Neall was on the way to visit a friend. The two friends conversed and enjoyed each other's society as they rode along together, but the nullification of the tariff law was not mentioned. They were far apart on this question. At length a parting of the ways was reached, and the friends separated. Johnstone proceeded alone along the rough, dusty wagon road. Already the heat was becoming oppressive. After all, it was late August. Seven miles west of Newberry Village, Johnstone arrived at the tiny hamlet of Dead Fall. This was located at a point where the road from Newberry Village to Higgins Ferry (later the site of the nine-mile bridge), on Saluda River, was crossed by the road leading from Mendenhall's Mill (once called O'Neall's, much later Langford's), on Bush River, to Coats Meeting House, near Little River. From that same point another road led northward two miles passing near the site of the later village of Silverstreet, then turning westward. This was the Laurens Court House Road. This little crossroads at Dead Fall was a busy and important place in those days.  Head's Tavern stood there, and it enjoyed a thriving business. Sometimes dozens of ox carts, covered wagons, and carriages would stop there in late evening. The drivers would park their vehicles beneath the great oak trees, feed and water their teams, then enter the tavern for refreshment before going to sleep in their wagons or in the various buildings of the tavern. Chancellor Johnstone dismounted, hitched his horse, and entered the tavern to speak to the landlord. The Wagoner’s who had stopped there greeted the stranger courteously but were unaware that their fellow-guest was one of the most eminent members of the state judiciary. It was oppressively hot inside. Soon the visitor went out to find a chair on the broad piazza. There was a slight breeze, and a great oak tree with widely spreading branches cast its welcome shadow upon the piazza. Two of the lower branches of the oak were horizontal, and the bark was slightly worn on top.  It was said that these two branches had several times served as the local gallows. A number of highway men, horse thieves, and murderers, quickly sentenced in a no-nonsense local trial, had been hanged from that tree. Some of the local people volunteered the information that this gallows tree was the reason that the little hamlet had come to be called Dead Fall. But others insisted that the name had come from Indian times. They said that the first explorers had found a number of game trails and Indian footpaths crossing at this point. These paths had been followed by the later wagon roads of the white settlers. Here where so many wild animals often were seen, the Cherokee and Salutah Indians had built traps. One such trap, a massive log construction, was still in place when the first whites arrived. Stout stakes channeled the passing animals to a narrow gateway. There, an ingenious and baited trigger was so arranged that, when disturbed by an animal, it would release a heavy log, or deadfall. This heavy object would fall like a hammer stroke and crush the creature that had disturbed the trigger. Such traps were deadly to bears, panthers, and wolves. This particular trap, or deadfall, had been regarded by the whites as a curiosity.  It had been sprung to prevent injury to children or domestic animals and had been left intact until it finally decayed. Now that ingenious old Indian trap with its deadfall log was gone, but the name Dead Fall remained. After all, the last Indians departed from this area little more than two generations earlier. Chancellor Johnstone had plenty of time to reflect and to converse with the Wagoner’s. These sturdy unlettered men were typical of the citizens of the state. Somehow, he thought, South Carolina must find a way to educate her people and give them a better chance in this country where advancement depended so much upon individual worth and accomplishment. It was in the early forenoon that Chancellor Johnstone arrived at Head's Tavern. Noon came, and there was time for a hearty lunch with other travelers. It was not until two o'clock that Calhoun arrived. Johnstone met him outside and escorted him to the piazza. The Wagoner’s and other visitors stared at this slender, intense-looking, dignified gentleman with respect. Few of them realized until introduced that this was the Vice President of the United States. After retiring to one end of the piazza, which was shaded by one of the great oaks, these two eminent visitors talked for two hours. First they enjoyed a social visit and exchanged news about mutual friends. Then Calhoun inquired about the religious revival that was current. He was especially interested in the camp meetings, which were sponsored chiefly by the Methodists, who attempted strongly to make them inter-denominational. Every year in August, after farmers finished cultivating their crops, these religious revivals occurred. At the same time, interest in politics became keen. It seemed that religious excitement and political excitement walked together, like two handmaids. Next, there was a review of politics on the national level. It was quite unfortunate that President Andrew Jackson, a native South Carolinian, differed so strongly with most of his former neighbors on questions concerning the protective tariff and efforts of Southerners to protect themselves by nullifying the tariff act. There was also a discussion about the political situation in all quarters of the state. It was apparent that many eminent South Carolinians considered the nullification effort unwise. Even Judge Belton O'Neall was of that opinion. This seemed indeed unfortunate; there was no better man in the state. Judge O'Neall, who was already a member of the Appeal Court, someday would become Chief Justice of the state. In other areas of the state, several counties, including Greenville, Spartanburg, Kershaw, Chesterfield, Darlington, and Clarendon, were under the sway of Federalist leaders and native sons. But the remainder of South Carolina would be almost solidly for nullification. Johnstone's draft of the nullification ordinance was read, changed slightly, and approved. Final plans were made for Judge Harper to head a committee which would present this document to a special convention of the people on November 24. Then, with business completed, the two friends shook hands, parted, and went their separate ways. Chancellor Job Johnstone returned to his pleasant home, Coatswood, and his spacious backyard office. The Vice President turned westward and rode two miles to Higgins Ferry on Saluda River. The ferryman brought the big flat boat over to the Newberry side, and Calhoun went aboard. The ferry was attached by rollers to a cable. The ferryman turned the boat so that the current pushed against it at an acute angle and thrust it over to the Saluda side. Calhoun debarked and rode up the long hill on the Edgefield (later Saluda) side of the river. He spent the night at Richardsonville and the next day went on to Edgefield to a meeting in the office of his friend George McDuffie. More plans were made for the coming nullification convention of the voters of the state. The convention was held on November 24 and the Ordinance of Nullification drawn up by Chancellor Job Johnstone was ratified by the vote of the people. This was an act of momentous consequences. President Andrew Jackson clashed head on with the people and the leaders of his native state. It was a wise Southerner, Henry Clay, of Kentucky, a friend of Calhoun, who worked out a satisfactory settlement of the dispute. Congress passed a compromise tariff, and South Carolina then repealed its Ordinance of Nullification. But the course of events was never smooth thereafter. Eighteen years after that meeting at Head's Tavern, one of the young men present at the meeting in McDuffie's office in Edgefield, Francis Hugh Wardlaw, wrote the Ordinance of Secession. Francis Wilkinson Pickens, who also had been present at that meeting and who was now Governor of South Carolina, called the secession convention that assembled in the First Baptist Church in Columbia. All this, with its tragic aftermath, was a continuation of the chain of events of which that obscure meeting at Head's Tavern was a vital part. Little Head's Tavern, in the tiny and obscure hamlet of Dead Fall, in western Newberry County, would never have such distinguished visitors or such a meeting again. It is uncertain who operated this tavern when Vice President Calhoun and Chancellor Job Johnstone met there. Indeed, there is a mystery concerning the name. It is possible that there were two Head's Taverns. It is more likely, however, that the original Head's Tavern; the one mentioned in: THE ANNALS OF NEWBERRY, moved to the site at Dead Fall. It is not yet known how long this tavern continued to operate, but it existed for many years. It was at one time used as a post office. Today the main building of Head's Tavern, battered and darkened by age, still stands. Gone are the ox carts, the covered wagons, the carriages. The great oak that shaded the piazza had to be cut, but its stump remains. There is little about this ghostly old building to indicate that the Vice President of the United States and a leading member of the South Carolina judiciary once sat upon that piazza and held a quiet but momentous meeting. Bishop Pateson - An Apostle of the South Seas The name of Bishop John Coleridge Pateson is almost forgotten today. The passage of time and the terrible loss of life in two World Wars have caused people of the modem world to overlook the story of one of the most charming and most heroic characters in the history of Christian missions. In England, a few generations ago, boarding schools, such as Rugby and Eton, provided excellent preparation for admission to the great, time-honored universities. Oxford and Cambridge are two of these universities. At these prestigious schools, the sons of the upper middle class mingled with the sons of the gentry. Here, the young men studied, often with the aid of highly gifted tutors. Here, too, the students exercised on the playing fields. Games such as Cricket and boat races on the rivers were popular. At Eton, the young John Coleridge Pateson studied hard; he made good use of the resources available in the school library. Here, the stories of the spread of Christianity into the Pagan lands of Ancient and Medieval Europe soon drew this young man's attention. The young Pateson loved to be outdoors. He kept himself in good physical condition by exercising on the famed playing fields. The Pateson family had reared this gifted son as a Christian. At an early age, the young man became aware of God's call for him to serve as an Anglican (Episcopal) priest. An occasional visit to Stately, Old Windsor Castle, or other historic monuments, aroused feelings of pride as an Englishman as well as an appreciation of the glorious deeds of honored ancestors. But, greater than feelings of patriotism and greater than any desire for fame, was the call to Christian service for Pateson. A visit to Oxford by Bishop Selwyn, a great missionary bishop, made a strong impression on Pateson, as well as many other students at the university. This young man eagerly pursued the studies that would lead to ordination as an Anglican priest. After graduation from Oxford, Pateson accepted a pastorate in Southwestern England. In this beautiful region, far removed from the main currents of British political and industrial activity, the young priest worked hard and did good service in the name of his Lord. However, letters from friends told of an impending visit to Oxford by Bishop Selwyn, who was on leave from his post of duty in the South Seas. This visit of England's great missionary Bishop so impressed the young Pateson that he decided to abandon his comfortable pastorate in Southwestern England and volunteer for missionary work in the colonies. Such work would be arduous and sometimes perilous. But, such problems had been faced by early Christian workers, including Saint Paul. The young priest's application for a post in the missionary work of the church was gladly accepted. Soon, the eager young preacher was in a Seaport on the southern coast of England. There, many quaint, old fishing boats left white wakes behind them as they crossed the magnificent harbor and headed out to sea. Alongside great, wooden wharves, many big and tall-masted ships were moored. With the group of other travelers, the young clergyman walked alongside one of the wharves until they reached a tall ship that was about to sail. With the dock workers assisting them in carrying their luggage, the prospective passengers ascended a gangplank and boarded one of the ships. Soon thereafter, the gangplank was drawn up. The mooring lines were cast off, and two rowboats towed the big ship away from the wharf and out into the harbor. The seamen swarmed into the rigging and unfurled the big, canvas sails. The Union Jack of England was lashed to a halyard and raised to the top of one of the masts. Soon, beneath a billowing cloud of white canvas, the big, majestic vessel swept through the harbor entrance and encountered the rough waters of the English Channel. Pateson had a feeling of sadness as he looked back at the receding shores of his beloved country. Some of the ladies dabbed at their eyes with handkerchiefs. All of these people knew very well that it would probably be years, and maybe forever, before they saw England and their loved ones again. A flock of sea birds followed the big ship as it sailed along the Western coasts of Europe and West Africa. The equator was reached and crossed. The stars and constellations of the northern hemisphere seemed to sink low, until they vanished into the sea. South of the "line" (the equator), the Southern Cross, the constellation of the Emu and the starry formations of the Southern Hemisphere, seemed to rise from the sea and become ever more visible. At Cape Town, located in the southern end of Africa, a stop was made to take on fresh water and to allow passengers to go ashore. After leaving Cape T own, the vessel sailed south-eastward into a globe-encircling, an area which old sailors called "The Roaring Forties." Here, a strong west wind blew continually and billowed the sails of the big ship, speeding the voyage eastward. The wind was often both violent and chilly. Strange birds appeared. Schools of great whales, from the cold waters of the Antarctic Seas, rose from the depths, leaped into the air, blew fountains of water and vapor, and vanished into the mysterious depths below. A stop was made at Perth, located m Western Australia. The voyage then continued with Australia and the large island of Tasmania off to port (the left side). The long, weary voyage was nearing it's end when the great south island of New Zealand was sighted ahead. A few small European-type settlements were seen ashore. Back from the coast rose forested hills and lofty, rugged mountains. On the tallest peaks, eternal snow fields, glaciers, and fields of ice glittered in the sunlight. The voyage ended at the southern end of New Zealand's great north island. Here, in the new coastal towns, the houses and most of the people were of European type. But, in many little village settlements throughout the island, lived the Moaris, the sturdy, much-respected Polynesian race that had ruled New Zealand before the arrival of the English explore, Captain James Cook. The Maoris had come from the many small islands of the South-Central Pacific. Their sea-farming ancestors, sailing in big, out-rigger type canoes, had discovered New Zealand by following flocks of migrating birds. The early Maoris had been pagans and cannibals. They had eaten some of the early English explorers. But, Paganism and it's multitude offerocious South Sea gods diminished in it's influence as European settlers arrived. Cannibalism vanished under the influence of Christianity. But, the native culture of the sturdy Maoris was still very much alive and it intrigued Pateson and the other new arrivals from England. In well-built wooden houses, covered with thatch and adorned with wonderful wood carvings, the Maoris lived amid well-tilled, green fields. Here, both native and European food crops and vegetables were grown. New Zealand hemp was produced here. Women made clothes, fish nets, and cords to be used in the rigging of the big, out-rigger canoes with their large, crab-claw sails. New Zealand and its' people intrigued the new arrivals from England. In the interior of the north island was a small thermal area with boiling springs and geysers like those of the Yellowstone area in the Western United States. But, John Coleridge Pateson had not come to New Zealand to admire the scenery and learn about the culture of its' people. He wanted to spread the Gospel of Christ. He also wanted to help God's dusky children of the south seas by teaching them to read and write. He well knew that literacy and education would soon be necessary if these primitive people were to meet the challenges of modem civilization. This idealistic and dedicated young priest soon received a promotion in the church. He was now "Bishop Pateson." The new bishop was given a Diocese larger than most of the nations of Europe; it included Norfolk Island, most of The Solomons, The Banks Islands, The New Hebrides, and the Santa Cruz Islands. The Bishop called this vast area his "beat." He resolved to visit annually all of the places where the gospel was being preached and where Christian work of any kind was being done. The new Bishop was also given a 60 foot schooner. This was a good, seaworthy, for-and-aft rigged ship with two masts. The Bishop proudly named his beautiful, new vessel the "Southern Cross." Aboard this ship, with a few helpers, the Bishop hoped to carry the Gospel and also the fundamentals of modem education to primitive, stone-age people in an area larger than all the British Isles. This was indeed a daunting task. This involved perilous work in islands where witch doctors ruled by means that inspired continuous terror. This was a primitive world where head-hunting and cannibalism were rampant. Women were men's slaves. This was a beautiful but perilous world in which every village had a row of stone-lined cooking pits in which the carcasses of wild hogs and the bodies of human beings were cooked on heated stones. This was also a land where the smoke of volcanoes in eruption sometimes hid the smoke from the cannibals' cooking pits. The new Bishop was told that every village had a concealed head house; this was a long, narrow structure with a high-pitched, bale roof, which was covered with thatch or with palm leaf mats that overlapped in shingle fashion. On the shelves that lined the walls of these structures were rows of human skulls and rows of cured, human heads. These ghastly trophies were memorials of successful heading...hunting raids. In the center of such head houses, a row of baskets was suspended by cords attached to the ridge-pole. In these baskets were stored the cured heads of the island's great men and the village chiefs. Bishop Pateson was warned that many of these primitive and war-like tribesmen were eager to secure the heads of white people which they could cure and add to their treasured collection of these hideous trophies. The Bishop was also warned that when these primitive people suffered from a raid by a hostile tribe and later found it impossible to strike back at the raiders, they were likely to take revenge by making a head-hunting raid against some innocent village or tribe. Bishop Pateson had no difficulty in finding sailors to help in sailing 'The Southern Cross'. Both white and native Maori Tribesmen eagerly volunteered as seamen. The Maoris, in particular proved to be absolutely trustworthy. The ancestors of these sturdy islanders, for unknown centuries, had roamed the vast Pacific in huge, out-rigger type canoes, with big crab-claw sails. The Bishop used the Southern Cross both as a means of transportation and as a school. Carefully chosen native boys gladly took the opportunity to live aboard the schooner and attend that classes that were taught by Bishop Pateson. The results were gratifying. Under the tutelage of the bishop and his helpers, the children of stone-age parents learned to read and write in an incredibly short time. Then, studies were continued in more advanced subjects. Unfortunately, it was also needful to teach these young people the fundamentals of the difficult English language. Otherwise, these people would be at a great disadvantage in coping with the agents of western commercial concerns. The students liked their chief instructor, Bishop Pateson, and they enjoyed his lessons from the Bible. The children also enjoyed their life aboard the schooner. In their many voyages, they saw many strange tribes and also many islands of which they had never heard. Flocks of sea birds constantly followed the schooner. The porpoises seemed to enjoy the companionship of human beings and enjoy swimming beside the schooner. Often, they leaped high into the air and turned over, showing their white under-sides. It was said if a man fell overboard, the porpoises would try to push him to safety . Occasionally, great whales rose from the depths of the ocean. Then, some old sailor would point out to sea and shout, "Thar she blows." Then, everyone would rush to the rail to look as the whale cleared it's breathing apparatus by blowing a fountain of water and vapor high into the air. When the students had progressed sufficiently in their studies aboard the schooner, the Bishop would send them to a more advanced school on Norfolk Island, located 700 miles east of Australia in The Coral Sea. The island was famous for it's beautiful Norfolk Island Pines. Such big trees, which were often 200 feet in height, made excellent masts for the old-fashioned sailing ships. Here, on Norfolk Island, amid pine forests, flower beds, and gardens, flourished a mission school that was doing splendid work in preparing these stone-age children for the challenges of the modem world. In this excellent school, young people were educated to the junior college level. Meanwhile, the Bishop, with a new group of pupils and his trusty sailors continued to sail in the Southern Cross from island to island in his vast Dioceses, which he called his "beat." He visited the tiny mission stations he had established. There, other devoted missionaries, his assistants, preached to the natives in their own language, told the story of Their God, operated tiny schools, and tried to give medical assistance. But, to give adequate medical aid to these primitive people was often difficult. On some of these islands were found diseases that European doctors had never seen. On many islands, the witch doctors offered formidable opposition. But, the Bishop was always treated with respect. He always succeeded in winning the good will of the people, and the natives welcomed his visits. The Bishop's vast Diocese was indeed an exotic and beautiful world. Schools of flying fish rose from the sea as the Southern Cross passed by. With their long dorsal fins vibrating furiously and acting as wings, these graceful creatures flew far over the waves before plunging into the sea again. Flocks of sea birds wheeled and screamed as great whales rose from the depths and blew tall fountains of water and vapor into the air. The black fins of shark were often seen. Almost 200 kinds of sharks inhabited these waters. But the sharks always fled when schools of shiny, friendly, and graceful porpoises appeared. This was indeed a beautiful world. But, the actions of some human beings often made it vile. Here, women were the slaves of pagan husbands. Here, too, head-hunting and cannibalism were almost universal. But not all of the evil-doers were natives. Many of the white traders were good men who tried to act justly and who often assisted missionaries who needed certain essential supplies. But, there was another kind of trader, either white or Malay, who should properly have been classed as a pirate. These evil men, with their crews of murderous ruffians, sailed aboard schooners which, to the illiterate natives, looked exactly like the Southern Cross. These evil men sometimes did a little honest and legitimate trading, but their main activity was the capture and enslavement of natives. Such nefarious activity caused these unscrupulous traders to become known as "Black-Birders." On some islands, the Black Birders were able to buy teen-age youth from their elders. The elders sometimes sold the young men into slavery after the Black-Birders had sold, or given, them quantities of rum with a high alcoholic content. But, the Black-Birders sometime landed at island villages, killed all those who resisted, and carried off prisoners into slavery. Another favorite tactic of the Black-Birders was to make a great display of friendship, lure a crowd of natives aboard their ships, then seize those who were strong and able-bodied and clap them into irons. These unfortunate captives were carried away and sold into slavery on the sugar plantains of Queensland, in Australia. Other markets for slaves were found on sugar plantations of Vita Levu and Vanua Levu, in the Fiji Islands. For years, Bishop Pateson strongly opposed the nefarious operations of the Black-Birders. But, people in both England and Australia did not seem to be interested in this problem. The general public was ignorant of the harm that was being done, and the south seas seemed to be very far away. Finally, one of the most notorious of the slavers developed what he considered a very clever plan. He secured a robe and vestments like those of an Anglican Bishop. When the Black-birders' ship arrived at an island where Bishop Pateson often called, this scoundrel would put on his robe and don his other Ecclesiastical Regalia and go to the rail of the ship. Soon, many natives would come out in canoes. Then, seeing this satanic Judas on the deck, they would think that he was their good friend, Bishop Pateson. With shouts of welcome and of rejoicing, the unsuspecting islanders would come swarming aboard the ship. Then, the crew would entice some of the visitors below the deck. The Black Birders would close the hatches, put their visitors in irons, hoist the anchor, raise the sail, and head out to sea. One day in September, 1871, the Southern Cross was approaching the beautiful island of Nukadu, in the Santa Cruz Island Group. Nukadu was the Bishop's favorite island. Here, he was always welcomed by his native friends. But, on this day, the Bishop was very busy below deck. He was teaching a class of his native pupils. The Bible lesson that day was from the seventh chapter of the Book of The Acts of The Apostles. This was the story of Saint Stephen. The first Christian Martyr, Stephen, while teaching in the temple was seized by his enemies, cast out of the gates of Jerusalem, and stoned to death. As Stephen was dying, he prayed, "Lord, lay not his sin to their charge." As Bishop Pateson read these words, the lesson ended abruptly. A shout from the deck caused to the Bishop to dismiss the class and hurry outside. Anxious to meet his friends again on this, his favorite island, the Bishop prepared to go ashore. The crew tried to approach the island more closely. But, the ship did not respond to her helm very well. It seemed almost as if The Southern Cross were a living thing that seemed to sense danger ahead. Accompanied by his secretary and several sailors, the Bishop entered one of the ship's boats and started toward the island. But, Nukapu was surrounded by a rugged coral reef. At this time, the tide was out and the reef was exposed. At no point could the seamen find a break in the reef which would enable them to enter the in-shore waters. However, two natives in a canoe were fishing on the other side of the reef. Impatient to be ashore, the Bishop went overboard, climbed across the reef, and waded to the canoe. There, the two natives helped him aboard and started toward the island. The Bishop shouted to his men and told them to come for him when they saw him wave a handkerchief from the shore. By that time, the tide would be above the reef and the shore could be reached easily. A long time passed, but the Bishop did not appear on the beach or wave his handkerchief. Finally, several outrigger canoes appeared and approached rapidly. The canoes drew near, then the paddlers quit. Warriors armed with bows stood up in the canoes and began shooting arrows at the white men. The secretary and several seamen were painfully wounded. Then, the canoes turned about and headed back toward the island. With much difficulty, the wounded sailors turned their boat about and rowed back to their ship. Aboard the Southern Cross a surgeon skillfully removed the arrows, then cleaned and dressed the wounds. But now, all were concerned about the fate of the Bishop. Everyone demanded that an attempt at rescue be made, even though such an effort seemed hopeless. There was no lack of volunteers for this perilous effort. The wounded secretary insisted on going in the boat. The rescue party rowed to the now flooded reef and passed it. Far ahead two canoes were seen leaving the shore. One canoe was towing the other. As the two canoes drew near, the lead canoe cast off the tow line, then turned back toward the shore, leaving the second canoe adrift. With growing apprehension, the seamen rowed their boat alongside the canoe. Silently, the men stared at what seemed to be a human form covered with a native mat. A sailor raised one comer of the mat and saw the dead face of Bishop Pateson. The Bishop was smiling; not a trace of fear or pain could be seen on the handsome features. A palm frond lay upon the Bishop's body. There were five knots tied in the palm frond, and the body bore five spear wounds. It was later learned that the false Judas, the black-birder who impersonated the Bishop, had been in the vicinity. Five young men from the island had been enticed aboard ship, then had been shackled and carried away to be sold into slavery. On the sugar plantations of Queensland, such slaves were worth about twelve English pounds. This would be more than fifty dollars in American money of that time. But the purchasing power of money was far greater then than now. The story of the death of the heroic Bishop aroused a wave of horror and indignation in England and Australia. Efforts began to bring about the end of forced labor on the colonial plantations. The British Navy sent gunboats to the south seas to patrol the sea lanes and end this iniquitous traffic in human beings. This sad event, the murder of the good Bishop gave the people of the western world a new appreciation of the good work that was being done by Christian missions. Truly, Bishop John Coleridge Pateson did not die in vain. Today, on the shore of the islands of Nukapu is a simple monument with an inscription that reads: In Memory of John Coleridge Pateson Missionary Bishop whose life was here taken by men for whom he would gladly have given it. Sept. 18, 1871 A Texas Journey A Current of excitement swept through the old farmhouse in Trinity community in upper South Carolina. A tall man, assisted by three small boys, was loading household goods and food items aboard an old-fashioned covered wagon. The man, Levi Farley Longshore, was recently a member of Company G of the famed Holcombe Legion, a prestigious unit in the service of the Southern Confederacy. Several friends and neighbor's from Trinity and adjacent Smyrna community of western Newberry County, had also belonged to this famed military Unit. Now however, in the Fall of 1866, the dark shadows of military defeat and economic distress hung ominously over the land. Many Southerners, discouraged by the grim situation in their beloved South, were leaving their country and going overseas. Some went with General Joe Shelby to Mexico. Others went to Central America to start farms and raise cotton in a mountain valley of Honduras. Still others went to more distant Brazil. But most of those who left the Carolinas went to the Gulf States, Texas, or the distant gold fields of California. Levi Farley Longshore remembered Texan comrades in the Confederate Army bragging about Texas. These men had told of rich Texan gold fields waiting to be developed. They claimed that anyone ambitious and energetic enough to go to Texas and work hard would speedily become rich mining the gold. Levi Farley Longshore belonged to an adventurous family. An ancestor in colonial times had come to Pennsylvania from England as the secretary of William Penn. Levi's Father had been a South Carolina militiaman in his youth. Six Longshore brothers had served gallantly in the Confederate Army. One Longshore brother, Lark, had vanished into the mysterious west. William, another brother, had gone to west Georgia. Another brother, John, was thought to be in Texas. Mrs. Levi Longshore, the former Miss Mary Davenport of Silverstreet, had also come from a family that had caught the "western fever". Several close relatives had recently migrated westward. Now, assisted by three sons, Wilson, Madison, and Kemper, Mr. Longshore was loading supplies necessary on a long perilous journey to the Lone Star State. At the same time, a small daughter, Ella, was helping her mother. One important item in the preparations was a feed trough for four mules. This was placed at floor level at the back of  the wagon. Levi had often seen such an arrangement in the Confederate Army.  At last all  preparations were made and the family was ready to depart. But they would not go alone. From the nearby village of Silverstreet came a very important and beloved passenger. This was Miss Mahulda (Hulda) Davenport, a maiden sister of Mrs. Longshore. She would go in the wagon with the family to Texas. Another sister of Mrs. Longshore had already gone westward. Several years earlier, a wandering soldier had come to the tiny village of Silverstreet. The hospitable Davenport family, 1ike true Southerners of that time, had invited the stranger to supper and to spend the night at their home. The Davenport house then stood on a site later occupied by the store of Mr. Otto K. Nichols, in Silverstreet. Entranced by one of his lovely hostesses, the guest had remained two weeks. He had a charming personality and a splendid voice. With his engaging manner and his love songs, he had wooed and won the beautiful Miss Ann Davenport. After the war the happy couple had established a home in Mississippi. As the Longshores were about to depart, two other covered wagons joined them for the trip westward. One was driven by a good friend, Mr. John Chambers, of the Jalapa area. The other wagon was driven by Mr. James Speer, of the Mount Zion area. Mr. Speer's comely young wife, Frances, was a daughter of the well-known Jesse Senn, a member and leader of Trinity Methodist Church who resided in the adjacent Smyrna community. At last everything was ready. There were many tearful farewells to friends and relatives. Resignedly and with many misgivings, Mrs. Mary Davenport Longshore climbed into the family wagon. She well knew that the journey would be very long, tiresome, and perilous. Mr. Longshore called his children, who were reluctant to leave some of their pets. Then he shouted to the four-mule team hitched to his wagon, and the journey began. Old Rip, the family's favorite hunting dog, and several younger hounds followed the wagons and excitedly sought rabbits in the road-side bushes. From Trinity Methodist Church the little wagon train went northwestward to the Island Ford road. Then it turned westward and went to the historic Island Ford, on the Saluda River. There the river was quite wide with an island in the middle. During the times of low water the stream could be forded by wagons. At times of high water a big, flat-bottomed ferry had to be used. This site, at a much later time, would be submerged beneath the waters of Lake Greenwood. The wagons rumbled on across the hills of Edgefield. They passed the ruins of the historic Star Fort, a relic of the American Revolution near the town of Ninety Six. Through forests and farmlands the journey continued until the Savannah River, the State line, was reached and crossed. On the hills of Georgia, the caravan halted. Then everyone sadly dismounted and looked back at the forested hills of South Carolina for the last time. Across the hills and along the rough roads of Western Georgia and the Gulf States the weary travelers slowly made their way. There were many long, steep hills and many deep mud holes. In areas where rainfall had been abundant the ruts in the roads were almost hub deep. Sometimes the mud of the roads was of a type that was very sticky and adhesive. This mud would gradually collect in tremendous masses on the wagon wheels and would greatly increase the strain on the laboring mules. Then the wagon train would halt. Men would dismount and go to one of the zig-zag rail fences that frequently bordered the road. Borrowing one of the top fence rails, the brawny teamsters would laboriously knock the masses of mud from the wheels and punch it from between the spokes. When rabbits sprang up or deer darted across the road, the dogs would go barking in pursuit. Usually they would have to be called back, either by voice or by means of a hunting horn. The children liked to see partridges and wild turkeys cross the road ahead of the wagons. Every day in the late afternoon the drivers would start looking for a good camp site. It was essential to find a place with good drinking water. Sometimes this meant a place near a big well on a plantation. More often a way-side spring could be found. Such places were often marked by the wagon tracks and visible campsites of other teamsters who had preceded them. Clothes had to be washed in way-side streams at the camping places. The cooking had to be done over open camp-fires out of doors. Water was usually boiled, if possible before bring ingested. The germ theory was little known in those days. But experience in the Confederate Army had shown Mr. Longshore that water very often contains things that will make people sick. So a rule was established that all way-side water must be boiled more than an hour before being consumed. As a result, the Longshores and their friends usually drank coffee or tea. Often, however, wet weather made it quite difficult to find dry wood for fuel in cooking or boiling water. At night owls hooted in the nearby forest and roving cattle or wild animals sometimes caused the dogs to bark almost incessantly. The presence of those faithful dogs gave the travelers a sense of security at night. No prowler could evade the vigilance of these faithful guards and sentinels. This was indeed fortunate. Mr. Longshore was carrying with him to Texas the sum of fifteen hundred dollars. This was probably all that he possessed and more than he would ever have at one time again. This sum would have been a rich prize for the wandering desperadoes and roving bandit gangs in the country. In those sad and troublous times, soon after the war, deserters from both armies roamed the hills and forests in some parts of the South. Forming into gangs, they found it easier to rob travelers and steal horses and mules than to work for a 1iving. But no robbers ever evaded the vigilance of old Rip and the younger hounds at night. On the rough roads of that day dozens of small streams had to be crossed. Many narrow, wooden, and often rickety bridges spanned the rivers that were too deep to be forded. Almost all the larger rivers had to be crossed by big, flatboats, or ferries. The drivers of wagons or carriages had to dismount and lead their teams aboard the ferry. Then standing, they held the bridle reins of the frightened animals during the crossing. In some areas along the road towering chimneys and blackened timbers of destroyed houses still remained as relics of the recent war. General Bedford Forrest's Confederate Cavalry and numerous squadrons of blue-coated Federal horsemen had raided and battled in this hill country during the final stages of the great conflict. At last the great Mississippi River, the magnificent "Father of Waters" was reached. It was hard to realize that this vast expanse of water, more than a mile in width, was actually a river instead of a lake. In spite of the destruction during the late conflict, a few beautiful steamboats, with twin funnels and high paddle-wheels, were seen plying the river. The Longshores and their friends crossed the Mississippi on a large ferry. How unfortunate that no description of that ferry seems now to exist. Beyond the Mississippi the journey continued through farmlands, forests and occasional towns for almost 200 miles into the Red River Valley. At this point in its course the Red River came down from Western Arkansas, flowed past Shreveport Louisiana, and continued on a meandering, southeasterly course across Louisiana to the Mississippi River. Fabulously rich bottom lands bordered the river on both sides. A few cargo boats plied the river. The little wagon train crossed the Red River on a ferry and turned northwestward. The road roughly paralleled the river and led toward Shreveport. The beautiful countryside side still bore the marks of conflict in the recent war. Local residents told many stories of the wartime days. Little more than two years earlier the Federal army under General N. P. Banks had come up from New Orleans. At the same time a large fleet of gunboats ascended the Red River and steamed towards Shreveport. A small Confederate army, under General Richard Taylor, son of a former President, had bravely but vainly resisted the advance of these superior forces. Stealing cotton on a massive scale as they advanced, the invaders had reached a point only a few miles south of Shreveport. There the arrogant General Banks, in his triumphant advance had allowed his army to become strung out in a marching column twenty miles long. Then, at Sabine Cross Roads, the small Confederate Army struck 1ike a tornado. The over-extended invaders collapsed and fell back, with heavy losses, down the valley toward New Orleans. Even the huge gunboat fleet escaped with difficulty. Many little graveyards, ruined houses, tottering chimneys, and fragments of destroyed equipment remained as a reminder of the great conflict. A few miles south of the old battlefield, near Shreveport the wagon train left the Red River Valley and turned westward. Two days of hard travel brought the wagons to the Texas State line but there was little at the border to indicate that the famed Lone Star State lay ahead. Another half day of travel brought the wagon train to the Sabine River. This stream, farther southward, becomes the 1ine between Texas and Louisiana. But at this point the river was well within Texas. Splendid grazing lands lay on both banks of the Sabine. A few small cargo boats plied the river. After crossing the Sabine on a ferry, the wagons proceeded for a half day along a rough road that meandered through a country much like Newberry County, S.C. There were dense forests, open glades, grazing lands, and cultivated fields. Some of these fields had been cleared long ago by Caddo Indians. Other clearings were the work of white pioneers. The travelers reached the small town of Carthage, which would later become known as the metropolis of Panola County. James Speer found a farm that he 1iked near Carthage and stopped to settle there. The Chambers family proceeded on to an unknown destination somewhere in eastern Texas. The Longshores still wanted to mine gold. But when they asked about the mineral deposits of the area, they were badly disappointed. The gold deposits of eastern Texas did not exist. As a matter of fact many Texans had gone to California and the Rocky Mountain area to mine gold. Facing the necessity of changing his plans, Mr. Longshore started looking for a place to farm. Since many Texans had moved to the western gold fields, several farms were available. Twenty miles from the new home of his friend, James Speer, Mr. Longshore and his wife found a suitable farm and settled there. But another disappointment awaited the new settlers. No barns were available. At that time the people of that part of Texas simply did not build cattle sheds or horse barns.  It hurt the Longshores to see horses, mules, and other livestock standing out in the cold rain of winter. But barns would have to be built later. The Longshore sons helped their father cut wood that winter. They probably also visited uncle Lark Longshore, who had settled near James Speer. There was very good hunting in the nearby woods, and this delighted the youngsters. Early next spring, as soon as soil conditions permitted, the Longshores began plowing. They thought that they could raise cotton, corn, potatoes, and vegetab1es in the same manner in which they had farmed in South Carolina and with only about the same amount of troub1e. But they had not considered the many wild animals and the enormous flocks of birds. This area seemed to be in the middle of one of Mother Nature's great flyways and migration routes. Birds of many kinds descended by thousands upon the freshly planted fields and began digging up the corn and vegetable seed. Some areas of corn land had to be replanted several times. Even after the corn sprouted and came up the feathered raiders continued their attacks. Later wild animals gorged themselves at night on the sweet potato vines. The Longshores and other settlers had to sit in their fields with guns to ward off both the feathered predators and wild animals. Half wild cattle sometimes got into the fields and damaged the crops severely. In time it would be possible to fell pine trees, cut them into logs, split the logs into fence rails with axes and build zig-zag type rail fences to keep the cows from the cultivated fields. But it was impractical to attempt raising the fences high enough to keep out the deer that also destroyed crops and vegetables. The deer would start grazing at one end of a sweet potato patch and graze on successive nights until they reached the other end. Then they would return to the beginning point and  start again. In addition to these difficulties, it was necessary to keep close watch over the 1ivestock. There were many gangs of outlaws in Texas. Renegade Mexicans and Indians, whose lawless activities had made Mexico or Oklahoma too hot for them, were likely to find a second home with some cattle rustling gang in Texas. Army deserters, wife-beaters, bank robbers, and absconding debtors from the East very often sought refuge and a new beginning as bandits in Texas. Very low prices of farm produce in this remote region and the necessity of hauling harvested crops long distances over terrible roads to market also distressed the pioneers. The thing that brightened the outlook of the Longshore family in those days was the birth of a daughter, Cornelia Ann Elizabeth, April 17,1867. Meanwhile, twenty miles away, James Speer was having more than his share of troubles. Mr. Speer liked Texas. He was far-sighted enough to see the area's great potential for development. Eastern Texas had good soil and plenty of timber. In the near future with better law enforcement, more people, better roads, and the development of schools, this could become a very good place in which to live. But Mr. Speer's good wife, Mrs. Frances Senn Speer, was desperately homesick. She began writing letters to members of her family. She wanted her sisters to join her in her new home. The husband, too, wrote letters to the friends and former neighbors in Newberry County, S.C. He wanted some members of the Senn family and a few of the friends in the Trinity and Smyrna communities to join the 1ittle group of pioneers in the Lone Star State. Mrs. Speer would then become reconciled to her new home. The anxious husband's concern for his wife was increased by the fact that she was pregnant. As time for her delivery approached, her depression increased and her health became steadily worse. Unfortunately medical facilities were very poor and often non-existent in Texas at that time. Mrs. Speer died in childbirth May 4, 1867. The baby died also. The heart-broken widower knew that he must convey the sad news as soon as possible to his good friend and father-in-law, Jesse Senn. Telegraph service existed in those days; but it was quite primitive and the telegraph offices and operators were few. It was many years before even the railroads had signal wires along all their lines. The postal service too was poor. In rural areas of the south and west it usually existed only in the towns. But James Speer somehow sent a message about his wife's death to Jesse Senn in distant South Carolina. Meanwhile the sorrowing widower knew that his friend and father-in-law would almost certainly want his daughter's body brought home for burial.  Indeed, Mrs. Speer, shortly before dying, had said that she wanted James Marion Boyd, a local preacher in Newberry County, to preach her funeral sermon. A local carpenter built a nice wooden coffin. The body of the dead lady was embalmed with one of the crude methods available on the frontier. Them someone suggested filling the coffin with charcoal, which would absorb gases. With tears in his eyes Mr. Speer looked at his wife's comely face a final time. Then the body was tightly wrapped in cloth and placed in the casket. A Kindly blacksmith brought a supply of charcoal. This was tightly packed into the coffin. The 1id was then closed and firmly sealed, never to be reopened. Tradition is not clear as to how the sorrowing husband cared for his wife's coffin. It is thought that he hastily constructed a tiny mausoleum in the grave-yard of a small pioneer' church. There, after the funeral, the wife's casket was stored above ground, where it would remain in good condition until a decision could be made about a return to the home State. The hot days of summer slowly passed. This was a time of constant toil and struggle. The crops were growing well in the fields, and the time of harvest was approaching. Then, in the early fall of 1867, James Speer received a visit from his friend, Levi Longshore. Mr. Longshore was badly distraught. Some of his 1ivestocK had disappeared. He and his wife were very homesick and they had decided to return to South Carolina. The children wanted to remain in Texas. But they would have to do as the adults decided. It would be better to leave at once to avoid the terrible travel conditions that would prevail later in the year. The Longshores had decided that they would offer to escort the coffin of Mrs. Speer back to South Carolina if Mr. Speer could furnish a covered wagon and a team. One of the Longshores would gladly drive the team. Mr. Speer gratefully accepted this kind offer. The two friends decided that Mr. Speer was to remain in Texas and gather the crops. He could later make a final decision about giving up his farm and returning to his native South Carolina. Mr. Longshore rode away to his home, which was located about twenty miles from the Speer home. A few days later he returned with his family and possessions in a covered wagon. The coffin of Mrs. Speer was placed aboard a second covered wagon, and a team of the Speer mules was hitched to the vehicle. One of the Longshores climbed aboard as driver. Farewells were said. Levi shouted to the mules. The wagon train started off to the east. Mr. Speer stood on the roadside and sadly watched as the canvas covered vehicles slowly vanished in the distance. On the sad return journey, the 1ittle wagon train generally followed the same route that had been used the previous year when on the way to Texas. But several times there were severe difficulties because of heavy rains and floods. In Mississippi a detour was made so that Mrs. Longshore could have a reunion with her sister, Ann, who 1ived there. After many years the name of Ann's husband and the family's place of residence have been forgotten. Throughout the lower Mississippi Valley and much of the Gulf Coast area, at this time, a severe type of Cholera was raging. Another disease called "Camp Fever" which was probably a form of Typhus, was also spreading in some districts. People were said to be dying 1ike flies. It was thought in these days that Cholera was airborne. But the Longshores continued boiling all their drinking water. Somewhere north of Columbus, in northeastern Mississippi, the wagons were ferried across the Tombigbee River. At the river crossing, 1ittle James Kemper Longshore, who was seven years old, became violently ill. Within hours the child was dead. In the medical language of that day, the boy's death was attributed to congestive fever. Heart-broken, the Longshores wanted to take their child's body with them and bury it in South Carolina. A friendly blacksmith emptied a large, sheet-iron tool box and presented it to the bereaved family. When washed out with lye soap to remove all traces of grease and oil, this box made a very acceptable coffin for use on a long journey. Little Kemper's body was embalmed and sealed up in the iron box. The body was placed in the back of the Longshore wagon. The family said farewell to the newly-found friends in Mississippi who had been so kind to them in their time of sorrow. A tombstone inscription indicates that James Kemper Longshore's death at the Tombigbee River, in Mississippi, occurred October 3, 1867. Hampered by heavy rains and floods the 1ittle caravan struggled on for six weeks over rough roads and through deep, miry mud holes. At last the tiny village of Dyson, S.C. was reached. From there the muddy road sloped generally downward to the Island Ford, on Saluda River. The ferry crossing was made safely, despite high water. Then Mr. Longshore mounted a horse and hurried ahead of the wagon train. He wanted to reach Trinity Community early and tell the relatives and former neighbors that the family was returning. A place at which to 1ive temporarily must be found. Also two grave sites must be chosen and volunteers called to dig the graves. The wagons left the Island Ford and headed across the Newberry hills toward Trinity Church. Old Rip, the favorite coon dog, began to bark excitedly. The tired mules quickened their pace, threw up their heads, and began to neigh frequently. In some mysterious manner the animals knew that they were almost home and that the long journey was coming to its end. It was in late evening when the wagons reached Trinity Community. The friends and neighbors had assembled to welcome them. A feast had been prepared. Where the family slept that night is now forgotten. They probably accepted an invitation to the home of a former neighbor. There, all the children probably slept on pallets on the floor so that the adults could occupy the beds. The sanctuary of Trinity Church at that time stood in the northern part of what was later the cemetery. The grave of James Pinckney Williams 1ies now where the original pulpit stood. But no cemetery  existed at that time. Trinity Church had come into existence in 1835, when three older churches combined to form Trinity. A generation had passed since that merger. The people had continued to use family graveyards, as well as the cemeteries of the three original churches that had combined to form Trinity. Now it seemed that a cemetery should be started at Trinity. A short distance south of the sanctuary, Levi chose a site for 1ittle James Kempen's grave. Farther away Jesse Senn picked a site for the daughter, Frances Senn Speer. Soon two crews of volunteers were at work digging two graves. It had been planned to have a double funeral on the morning following the Longshore return from Texas. But some of the Longshore relatives said that the iron box containing 1ittle Kemper's body looked ugly as it sat beside Mrs. Speer's nice coffin. A local carpenter began building another coffin. A messenger was sent to summon a minister to conduct the funeral service. Where and to which preacher the messenger went is now uncertain. The parsonage of the Newberry Methodist Circuit then stood on Boundary Street in Newberry, almost on the present site of the Boundary Street School. The senior pastor of the circuit was Rev. J. H. Zimmerman, a truly dedicated and almost fabulous figure. The junior preacher of the Circuit was the equally dedicated and able Rev. J. B. Traywick. However, it was Known that Mrs. Speer had wanted James Marion Boyd to conduct her funeral. J. M. Boyd was the eldest son of the Rev. Mark M. Boyd, of the New Chapel area. There were four sons in the Mark Boyd family, and three of them were destined to become well-Known Methodist ministers. James Marion Boyd, at the time the Longshores returned from Texas, had already become well Known as a local preacher. But he was destined to join the South Carolina Methodist Conference in 1870 and to become the highly-esteemed pastor of the Rocky Mount Charge in Columbia District. Before his death in 1894, Mr. Boyd served as Presiding Elder (District Superintendent) of Charleston District and later of Spartanburg District. It was probably J.M. Boyd who was called to preach this double funeral sermon, and the date was probably November 13, 1867. Plans had been made to have the funeral service in the morning. A large congregation assembled. Then it was found that the carpenter would be unable to finish the new coffin before the time of the Service. The funeral service was held as scheduled. Then the coffin of Mrs. Frances Senn Speer, wife of James Speer, was lowered into its freshly dug grave. In the afternoon the carpenter finished his work on the fine, new coffin. The friends of the Longshore family 1ifted the iron box containing the body of 1ittle James Kemper Longshore and placed it gently in the new coffin. The 1id was sealed and a second interment was held. Those two burials that day in late 1867 were the first in Trinity Methodist Church Cemetery. About five miles east of Trinity church 1ies Spearman's Crossing, where the Stoney Battery Road Crosses an east and west 1ine of the Southern Railway. There, less than a hundred yards south of the railway and only a short distance west of the highway, is a low hill. Some cattle-feeding installations stand there today. It was on that hill, in a house that stood until only a few years ago, that the senior members of the Longshore family spent their final years. Levi Longshore's last farm is now a large cattle pasture. But long ago, in the fall of the year, this area was covered with fields of snow white cotton and other fields filled with ripening corn. On cold, frosty nights old Rip and the younger hounds bayed excitedly as they treed the wily opossum or chased the elusive raccoon. Eagerly following his hounds, Levi made the shadowy forest ring with blasts of his hunting horn. Then, in the springtime of  1914, as a great World War was about to break out in Europe, the old soldier of the Confederacy laid aside his hunting horn forever. In Trinity Church Cemetery the two senior Longshores, husband and wife, lie sleeping near the grave of 1ittle James Kemper who died on the Tombigbee River long-ago on the return journey from Texas. Nearby 1ies the grave of James Speer, who returned home from Texas at a later time. After facing 1ife's storms and battles, they sleep well. APPENDIX Since many descendants of Levi and Mary Longshore still live in Newberry County, as well as in many other areas, it might be interesting to list the children of this couple. . They are as follows: Madison J., who married Sarah Catherine Boozer Wilson Euclydus,  (Mi) Lucy Caroline Lake  (M2) Henrietta Morse James Kemper, died on the Tombigbee River Mary Ella, (M) James Thompson Dennis Cornelia Ann Elizabeth (M) Nathan Young Dennis Nancy A., died early . Thomas Cothran, (M) Mary Frances Martin Sarah Frances (Sally) (M) Earnest Z. Paysinger Dr. Andrew. Levi, (M) S. Emma Riser At one time about one-fifth the graves in Trinity Methodist Church Cemetery were those of Longshores. P.S. A great debt of gratitude is due to Mrs. O1in Berry ("Shirley"), who preserved and furnished much of the material for this story. The Jim Chappel War About ten miles west of the town of Newberry, South Carolina, the Belfast Road descends into a deep valley and crosses Sandy Run Creek. West of the creek the well-paved highway makes a big curve as it climbs a long, steep hill. Just beyond the crest of the hill an electric power transmission line crosses the highway. At this point an old driveway, bordered by bushes, extends northward into the forest. About 200 yards north of the highway this old driveway leads to a small cemetery, which dates from ante-bellum times. This place is usually known as the Floyd Family Cemetery, but members of seven different families are  buried there. Precisely at the point where the driveway reaches the cemetery is a marble obelisk several feet in height. This monument marks the grave of James Chappell, the meanest man in Newberry County. This man, who was a former soldier in the War Between the States, was the subject of many stories long ago. At the time of the earliest stories now remembered about him, Mr. Chappell lived in a large farmhouse near the village of Silverstreet.  This house still stands today, but it has been modernized and greatly improved in recent years. In that long-ago time this house belonged to one of Mr. Chappell's sisters. It is quite likely that this fair lady sold the house and farm in order to get rid of her troublesome brother. Jim Chappell moved from the Silverstreet area to the. Dominick area in western Newberry County. At his new home in the Dominick area Mr. Chappell was as mean, contentious, and unfriendly as ever. It is said that Mr. Chappell was so mean that his good wife could not live with him, so she moved out and got a job at a lady's hat store in Newberry. During the time when she was away from home, this lady left her little daughter at the home of a good colored woman who lived nearby. One day Jim Chappell walked into the colored woman's house, picked up his little girl, and carried her away. He took the child to the home of a childless couple who lived near Trinity Methodist church and gave her to them. For a long time Mr. Chappell went to visit his little daughter every second Sunday and dined with her foster parents. But one day as Mr. Chappell arrived for his usual Sunday dinner, he saw his little daughter playing on the porch. The child ran into the house and the visitor heard her say, "Mar-Me" Jim Chappell is coming." That rough old man was so hurt because his child did not say "Daddy" that he never went to see his little girl again. At his new home in the Dominick area Mr. Chappell was as mean and unfriendly as ever. One day he made the mistake of hiring a black farm hand that possessed some of his own qualities. Predictably, it  was not long before these two men had a serious dispute. No one else was involved, but at this inauspicious moment a black man named Neal Mingo arrived on the scene. Neal Mingo was a man much like Jim Chappell. He had a bad reputation and he deserved it. He now made it his business to meddle in a quarrel with which he was not in any way involved. Exactly what happened then is not now remembered. Possibly Neal Mingo sent out messengers into the surrounding countryside. In a few hours a large crowd of black men assembled around the home of Mr. Chappell. The nearby white farmers became alarmed and began sending out messengers. In a short time about 20-armed whites assembled on a neighboring farm. A messenger hurried to Newberry to alert the Newberry County Sheriff. Of course the sheriff sent a telegram to Columbia. But even evil men usually have a few good qualities and among the hundreds of assembling blacks was a man to whom Jim Chappell had been kind. This man called his little son and gave him a message to take to Hezzie Pitts as soon as possible. Hezzie Pitts was a black man who had gone with some white friends to the Confederate Army during the War Between the States. In the army Hezzie had served as a servant. Several Confederate survivors remembered Hezzie as a good cook. Hezzie was admired and respected by everyone. The little boy found Hezzie Pitts in the field plowing. Hezzie stopped his mule and listened to the little boy's message. Then he unhooked his trace chains from the single tree on the plow and hung them on the hames of the plow gears. Then he thanked the little boy and told the child to go home. Quickly Hezzie rode to his house and called to his wife, telling her to bring his Sunday hat and coat. While she was doing this Hezzie removed the plow gears from his mule and replaced them with a saddle. Then, uttering a little prayer to the Good Lord, Hezzie mounted and rode toward the Jim Chappell House. As he rode, Hezzie kept expecting to see a tremendous cloud of smoke rising above the grove of trees that surrounded the Jim Chappell House. When Hezzie arrived at the Chappell House he found it surrounded by a mob of angry men  and the notorious Neal Mingo was making them a talk and inciting them to attack. Hezzie rode through the mob and confronted Neal Mingo. Then he himself addressed the crowd. Exactly what Hezzie Pitts said that day is now forgotten, but he told the people that they were making a great mistake. If they did what they were threatening to do there would be a terrible race war and many people would be murdered. In that case most of the dead bodies would be those of black men. After all there was no point of dispute that could not be settled in a few minutes by two or three people with good sense. It was absolute foolishness to have a race war and get a lot of people killed. It would be much better if everyone would simply walk away, go home in peace, and make a living for his family. Then, somewhere in the crowd, someone whispered, "Let's Go!" It seemed that a miracle was taking place that day. That threatening mob of hundreds quietly melted away. There was not another man, white or colored, in Newberry county who could have done what Hezzie Pitts did that day. He saved hundreds of lives. Meanwhile several hundred troops had been sent by rail from Columbia to Newberry to quell this disturbance. With them the troops brought three small field guns (cannons). At Newberry the troops began marching westward on the Belfast Road. Very late in the day the detachment arrived at a small log store, about seven miles from town. This was near the site of what was later called "Longshore Store". Here, as night closed in, the troops turned aside and went into bivouac in the woods on the north side of the Belfast Road. Next morning a message was received saying that the mob had dispersed, so the commander of the troops kept his men in the bivouac area a few days then returned to Columbia. There was no doubt that Hezzie Pitts had saved Newberry County from a terrible blood bath. This affair was long remembered by the local people and was called, " The Jim Chappell War". Both Jim Chappell and Neal Mingo realized how narrowly they had escaped catastrophe; neither of these two evil men was ever again quite as mean as he once had been. The people of Newberry County realized that there was not another man alive, white or colored, who could have done what Hezzie Pitts had done. Later, a group of Confederate veterans went to the county courthouse and asked to see the company rolls dating from the late war, which at that time were stored in the courthouse. These old veterans found the roll of the company in which Hezzie Pitts had worked as a cook. Then they added the name "Hezzie Pitts"- to the roll as the name of a confederate soldier. These old veterans also promised to make plenty of trouble for anyone who attempted to remove Hezzie's name from that roll. When Hezzie Pitts died, honored and respected, at the age of more than 100 years, he was still drawing a confederate soldier's pension. The Jim Chappell War, as it was called, has long been forgotten, but the memory of Jim Chappell cannot even yet be quite forgotten. A few years ago the house in which Mr. Chappell once lived, near Silverstreet, was sold to a doctor who worked at Newberry County Hospital. In the doctor's family were three small girls. When the family moved into the beautifully restored old house, it was decided that an upstairs bedroom would serve as a nursery. The oldest child was placed in the nursery immediately. It was planned to place the two younger children in the nursery when they were older. But during her very first night in her cozy and attractive nursery the oldest little girl was heard crying. The mother hurried upstairs and asked the child why she was unhappy. "Mama," said the little girl, "There's a man in here! And he is mean." "Where is the man now?" asked the mother. The child answered, "Standing right beside you." The mother remained in the nursery and talked to her little daughter until the child fell asleep. The mother then quietly withdrew, but she left the nursery light burning all night. It was soon found necessary to leave the nursery light burning continuously every night. Just as surely as the light was extinguished the specter of a mean old man appeared. After a few weeks, however, the child no longer complained of the mean old man. It became customary to extinguish the light every night. A few months later the second oldest girl was sent upstairs to the nursery. Then identically the same thing happened. For many weeks it was necessary to leave the nursery light burning all night to prevent a mean old man from appearing. Then, finally the light no longer was necessary. The writer of this true story makes no claim to believe in ghosts, but what was the apparition that so frightened the two little girls? Could this have been the spirit of Jim Chappell? The Fireman's Ghost A few years ago a researcher in Newberry, South Carolina went to the office of the Newberry Observer, a local newspaper, in search for information about Trinity Church. As he rummaged through the newspaper's oldest files, the researcher was astonished to find many fascinating stories which had been quite forgotten for generations. One of the stories was in the form of a letter to the editor written by a lady who was the granddaughter of a Railway engineer. In those days railroads were accustomed to run special trains at the time of the Little Mountain reunion, state fair, and when the foliage was changing color in the mountain forests during the fall of the year. On one occasion, when the mountain forest had become gloriously beautiful, this engineer and his old fireman, and black man named Thomas, were assigned to a locomotive which was to take a trainload of nature lovers to Asheville NC. The journey through the scenic heels of western North Carolina was very pleasant. At Asheville people left the train and strolled about. Some took side trips in carriages. The beauty of the southern Highlands in early fall, was amazing. But the approach of a sudden violent rainstorm ruined the holiday. Some people became soaked before they could get back to the train. At the time set for departure, the engineer and the fireman, Tom, were in the cab of the gleaming, highly polished, old steam locomotive. Loaded with passengers, there was a warning blast of the whistle and the train pulled out of the station. In a short time those suburbs of Asheville had been left behind and the train was speeding through a scenic rural area. Soon a thinly veiled mist settled, a heavily forested area was reached. There were no houses near the railroad track for miles in this region. Deer and droves of half-wild cattle were a constant menace to the railroaders. A collision with a big, wild bull could easily derail a speeding locomotive. It was necessary to be extremely viligent. So the engineer rode with his head out of the window and Tom, the fireman, watched from the other window. The falling rain and low hanging clouds badly reduce visibility. Suddenly Tom cried out," Stop ! Stop! For God's sake, stop!  We just hit a woman and knocked her off the track - a woman in a white dress.". Startled, the engineer cut the power and applied the brakes. The train slid gradually to a stop. Soon excited voices were heard outside the cab. Then the conductor, two brakeman and several other man appeared. " What is wrong? Why has the train stopped?" Asked someone. The engineer replied, "Tom, here says we hit a woman and knocked her off the track". There was a hasty consultation. It seemed incredible that a woman would be walking along the railroad track in this desolate area in weather like this. However the conductor called for lanterns. These were the old-fashioned, kerosene- burning lanterns that long preceded the development of the modern flashlight. When the lanterns arrived the conductor formed his men in line and led them in search of the railroad right-of-way from the locomotive to a point several hundred yards behind the train. Then the men crossed the track, formed in line again, and searched the other side of the right-of-way until they returned to the locomotive. Nothing was found. The conductor formed his men in line again and searched far out at the edge of the woods on both sides of the track. But, again, nothing was found. The group of searchers, tired, disappointed, wet and in bad humor returned to the locomotive. But despite a malicious remark and ridicule, Tom, the old fireman clung to his story of the woman in a white dress whom the engine had knocked off the track. Finally the engineer said, "Well, we've lost that much time. We might as well lose a little more. I think that I'll walk around that curve ahead of us in check the condition of the next trestle." The conductor was well acquainted with this portion of the railway. He remembered that a large creek flowed beneath the trestle beyond the next curve. Accompanied by a brakeman with a lantern, the engineer set out. As the two men passed around the curve, they began to hear a murmuring sound that gradually became louder until it was a terrible roar. Suddenly the man stepped into black water. Before them was a horrendous, rushing and surging torrent. Not a trace of the destroyed railroad trestle could be seen. The two men stared mutely in horror. Then, with scarcely a word, they turned and walked back to the locomotive. The engineer climb into the cab, put his arms around the old, black fireman and hugged him. "Tom, Tom" he said, "Your ghost saved all our lives !" Addenda - This is a strange story, but it is a true one. Dr. Robison The clop, clop, clippety clop of hoofs was heard in the darkness as a man rode along a farm road in the hills of western Newberry County in western South Carolina. Watch dugs barked as the traveler and his mule passed wayside farms. Sometimes the dogs came rushing out to the road to snap viciously at the mule which responded by kicking, swerving skittishly, and breaking into a run. At last the rider turned into the driveway of a large farmhouse. Although  it was already late, a light could still be seen on the first floor. The rider dismounted, hitched his mule, and found a big stick with which to protect Himself from the angrily barking watch dog. Then , ascending the steps of the porch, he rapped on the front door. Inside the house, young Dr. George H. Robison, was reading by candlelight. He had returned after nightfall from a late call and had partaken of a late supper. Now he was trying sleepily to read some favorite passages in his Bible before going to bed. Aroused by the clamor of his watch dog, the doctor hoped that no patient needed his services at this late hour. But hearing footsteps on the porch, then a knock on the door, the doctor arose and opened the door. There in the dim light, stood a sturdy black man. The doctor recognized him  immediately as a trusted servant on a nearby plantation, a good man and an old friend. The visitor explained that Ole Massa had sent him to call the doctor. A child was seriously ill in the family of a worker on the plantation. Dr. Robison was very tired. But he knew his Christian duty. Putting on his hat and coat, he took up his heavy medical kit, which contained instruments and drugs. The black servant courteously took the kit and carried it out to the doctor's buggy, while Dr. Robison, hurried to the nearby barn for his favorite horse. The horse was quickly hitched to the buggy. The black servant mounted his mule, and the two men rode away. The doctor reflected that the night was so pleasant: that his coat was scarcely needed. The day had been very hot, and even now there was only a barely perceptible chill in the air. A traveler who had recently returned from the North had reported a colder winter than usual in the northern states. But here, in the hill country of upper South Carolina, a few days of cold weather had alternated with short periods of weather almost like that of summer. This was indeed strange weather in the January of 1816. It was rumored that a ship had recently put into Charleston with news of a terrible volcanic eruption in the East Indies. Clouds of smoke and ashes had risen many miles into the air. Ashes had fallen upon the sea in vast quantities and had formed floating islands so thick that men could walk upon them. Sunsets more colorful and brilliant than any ever seen earlier had followed the volcanic explosion and the ash fall. Sailors aboard ships at sea had continued to see such brilliant sunsets all the way during their voyage back to America. Now such brilliant sunsets were beginning to be seen in South Carolina. Sometimes the sunlight was yellow, and there was a ghostly quality about the moonlight at night. On this particular night, the atmosphere was especially ghostly. Several times the horse and the mule started in fright. But usually what scared them were herds of cattle loose in the dark woods along the road. Sometimes momentary panic was caused by possums, or other small creatures, as they scampered across the road and vanished through the high rail fences that kept the cattle out of the cultivated fields. But sometimes the animals became frightened for no perceptible reason. The old servant said that both the horse and the mule were seeing "haunts." At last the cabin where the patient lived was reached. The two men hitched their animals, then strode in the moonlight to the house. The servant said that he would wait outside, on the porch. He wanted to hear the doctor's report and take it to Ole Massa. Dr. Robison went inside, where he was warmly greeted by the anxious family. He examined the patient, left some medicine, took up his kit, and prepared to depart. As the doctor opened the door and went out upon the porch, the black servant, his friend, stood beside the door as if paralyzed, his back against the wall of the house. In response to the doctor's questions, he tried to speak. His lips moved, but no words came. On his face was a look of horror as he stared across an adjacent field. Frantically he gestured and pointed at something dreadful that the doctor did not see. Turning in the direction indicated, Dr. Robison saw something that resembled a fiery cloud coming across a moonlit field. The cloud was only a few feet above the ground. It was turning over and over as it approached and the interior seemed to be solid, with the rough semblance of a bulldog. Within seconds, as the doctor  stared horror-stricken, the cloud rolled onto the porch. Then, with a gasp, the black man suddenly put his hands to his throat and fell heavily, his features convulsed with terror. The fiery cloud dissipated and vanished. Groggily, Dr. Robison bent over his prostrate friend and tried to revive him. But there was no heartbeat. The man was dead. During the following week the news of this bizarre event spread throughout Newberry County. People told this story again and again, often amplifying and changing it. A rash of other ghost stories also appeared. From the Carolina Blue Ridge Mountains to the sea many stories of " haunts" and spooks became popular. Some of these were very old, and others were of recent origin. Some of the best of these tales were of the Ghost of Goshen, a " spirit" that generally assumed the appearance of an enormous and ferocious dog. This fearsome apparition was said to be often seen near Ebenezer Church, in northern Newberry County .From that point it sometimes ranged as far as the hamlet of Goshen, in adjacent Union County. There were some people who thought that the Ghost of Goshen was the dog-like nucleus of the fiery cloud seen by Dr. Robison. Dr. Robison was not superstitious. He knew that the black servant, his old friend, had probably died of heart failure caused by terror. But the memory of that frightful event and the cumulative effect of the many ghost stories that he heard probably made a deep impression on him. Several days passed uneventfully. Then again there was a knock on the doctor's door one night. Someone was quite ill in the tiny village of Saluda Old Town, a few miles to the South. Although he was very tired, the young doctor harnessed his favorite horse, climbed into his buggy and set out. The night was quiet and beautiful. Only occasionally could be heard the blare of distant horns and the yelping of dogs as some boys hunted possums or raccoons in the dark swamps along Saluda River. These gave the night an elfin atmosphere. But suddenly the horse started violently. He turned his head and looked out across a field. Then he started running at his utmost speed. Dr. Robison clung to the reins with one hand and with the other hand he clutched the buggy. But he took time to look across the adjacent field. There, in the moonlight, was a big, fiery cloud turning over and over as it approached the rail fence along the road. The nucleus of the cloud appeared to be solid and resembled the body of a human being with the head missing. Dr. Robison started to whip the horse. But the horse needed no whipping. He was as terrified as his master. The doctor had to cling to the buggy to prevent being thrown out as the light vehicle went around curves on two wheels and dirt flew from beneath the horse's hoofs. Soon the village of Saluda Old Town lay ahead. As he reached the first houses, the doctor ventured to glance back over his shoulder. The fiery cloud had disappeared. Several more days passed. Then again there came a knock on the door one night. Reluctantly, the doctor decided to be very brave and answer the call. The wife of a good friend was ill. After harnessing his faithful horse, Dr. Robison drove quietly along a road bordered by high rail fences. Occasionally an owl hooted in the nearby forest. The night was lovely, and it was good to be alive. The doctor recalled his friend's house and attended the patient. Then, taking up his medical kit, he prepared to leave. The host accompanied him to the door. The host saw his good friend open the door and step outside. Then a great fiery cloud suddenly rolled onto the porch. The doctor gasped and fell heavily, dropping his medical kit. After a momentary hesitation, the host rushed outside and knelt beside his friend. But Dr. Robison was dead. There was a big funeral at Moon's Meeting House, the nearby Methodist Church. Hundreds of the late doctor's friends and patients were there. Many black people, who had known and loved the young doctor were in the congregation. The doctor's mother, Mrs.  Sarah Robison Moon and his venerated step-father, Dr. Meredith William Moon, were the chief mourners. Generations passed and this frightful story became one of the legends of Newberry. But it cannot be verified now. However, recent events render this story more credible. Luminous accumulations of gas have often been seen in various areas of western Newberry at night. Only a few years ago, the late Mr. Fred Werts, a descendant of Dr. Meredith William Moon, was traveling one night on a road near the abandoned site of Moon's Meeting House. He was astonished to see a luminous cloud, about the size of an automobile, come out of the forest at tree-top level. Slowly revolving and propelled by a gentle breeze, it drifted slowly westward above the highway for several miles before it gradually dissipated and vanished. This was certainly an accumulation of swamp gas , largely methane, such as is common in many parts of the World. The sudden appearance of one of these fiery clouds is quite enough to cause terror that might trigger a massive heart attack. Sometimes modern science has to spoil a good story in order to make it credible. Moons Meeting House has vanished now. The congregation merged with Shady Grove and Kadesh to form Trinity Methodist Church, a few miles away. But in the deserted old cemetery, beneath the great trees, a marble slab marks the grave of the unfortunate Dr. Robison. It bears an inscription, SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF Dr. GEO. H. ROBISON, WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE JAN. 17, 1816 IN THE 24th YEAR OF HIS AGE. BLESSED ARE THE DEAD WHO DIE IN THE LORD

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